


your type

by shootsharpest



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (more or less), Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Drunk Lance (Voltron), First Kiss, Gay Keith (Voltron), Jealous Lance (Voltron), Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, bi lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 21:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootsharpest/pseuds/shootsharpest
Summary: "Wha’bout the friend--Ollie? Whatever his name was--he never realized it was her, all that time? He was supposed to have, like, a huuuuge crush on her and he couldn’t tell. I, mean, if it were me,” Lance continued, rambling on, “If you came up to me in a blonde wig, I’d know it was you, no doubt.”Keith laughed again, but it caught in his throat after a moment of processing exactly what Lance had just said. “Wait, what--”(or, lance is drunk, keith makes sure he gets home safe, and the realities of hannah montana's disguise are discussed.)





	your type

**Author's Note:**

> as often happens with my writing process, a real fic came out of a very silly set of headcanons. here's one based on my own drunken ramblings about hannah montana.
> 
> (thanks to my wonderful girlfriend for helping me with keith's voice uwu)

Lance leaned tipsily, and maybe a bit heavily, against Keith’s shoulder. In the dim light filtering through the blinds of the closet door, Lance could see the way Keith’s hand twitched, but he didn’t quite have the brain power to understand what that was supposed to mean--if he should move off of Keith or stay where he was. He just knew Keith was a hell of a lot more comfortable choice of pillow as opposed to the wall of shelves behind them. They had just under six minutes left in “heaven” (as Allura had explained with a sly little grin as she shoved the two of them into this hallway closet) before they could return to the group’s game of Truth or Dare. 

Keith’s drunkenness level was considerably less than his, Lance knew; Lance had been the one to take up the challenge of playing a real drinking game throughout the movie, whereas Keith had elected to take sips of his drink to a nice, warm buzz, even as Lance teased him for being “no fun.”

He wasn’t regretting his choice, of course. Lance was floating right now, despite being stuck on the floor of a cramped closet. Because it had led him to accepting that dare, had led to him to being stuck here… with  _ Keith. _ He honestly wasn’t going to complain.

Did he notice before how Keith smelled amazing? Shit, had he said that out loud?

Keith huffed, a little release of air that lacked any actual annoyance, and relaxed his shoulders so that Lance’s head fit more comfortably. That was probably a yes to having voiced his thoughts, but he didn’t care. Lance just giggled a bit, brain too preoccupied with the newfound discovery of the scent of Keith’s hair to do much else. It was fresh and simple, but so very  _ Keith _ that it sent Lance’s head spinning to be so surrounded by it in this tiny closet. He allowed himself to burrow just a bit closer under the pretense of his tipsiness, chasing that scent. The seconds ticked by slowly, and though Keith said nothing, it was a comfortable silence overall. 

Which was, of course, Lance’s cue to open his mouth.

“You know what makes me mad? Hannah Montana.”

“Hm?” Keith hummed, and Lance could practically hear the furrow in his brow through his voice. “What... are you talking about, Lance?”

“No no no, hear me out, dude.” Lance’s voice was just barely slurred, but determined. “Okay, so like, Miley What’s-her-name puts on a blonde wig, right? But… but no one recognizes her face? Not even her best friend--that’s weird, right?”

“I mean, I guess I never thought about it,” Keith said, mouth close to the crown of Lance’s head. “Why are  _ you _ thinking about it now?”

Lance shrugged awkwardly in his leaning position. “I dunno. I just think it’s weird, like I was supposed to believe that as a kid, right? That no one recognized her face and voice? Wha’bout the friend--Ollie? Whatever his name was--he never realized it was her, all that time? He was supposed to have, like, a  _ huuuuge _ crush on her and he couldn’t tell.” 

(Keith let out a little laugh, and it made Lance bounce against his shoulder comfortably.) 

“I, mean, if it were me,” Lance continued, rambling on, “If  _ you _ came up to  _ me _ in a blonde wig, I’d know it was you, no doubt.”

Keith laughed again, but it caught in his throat after a moment of processing exactly what Lance had just said. “Wait, what--”

_ Click, _ went the lock.

“Are you two decent?” The teasing voice of Pidge reached them through the door, and Lance snapped back up into a sitting position in his surprise. By the time Pidge had opened it, they were sitting a good distance apart. Keith stood first and took a step out towards the hallway before he seemed to reconsider, and then a hand was gripping Lance’s and pulling him up, and the world was spinning on a sideways axis. He stumbled forward on unsteady beat, flooded for a fleeting moment with warmth as he pressed into Keith’s chest, and then it was over.

Those seven minutes had gone by a lot faster than Lance expected.

“C’mon,” Pidge rolled her eyes. “You missed Hunk putting ice cream down his socks.”

* * *

 

Forty minutes and several increasingly ridiculous rounds of Truth or Dare later, Lance was starting to feel a bit sick. It could have been from the alcohol, or the strange, goopy condiments concoction he’d had to drink thanks to Romelle’s surprisingly devious mind. He was sitting on the floor, the couch supporting his back. Keith’s legs were right next to him, so he let himself slump back against Keith again. 

“Keith,” he mumbled, eyes shut against the suddenly harsh light of Allura’s living room. “It’s too hot, I don’t feel so good…”

A hand pressed against his forehead. It was cooler to the touch than he expected. “You don’t feel warm.”

“I’m  _ warm, _ ” he insisted.

“You’re  _ drunk. _ ”

Lance made a long, obnoxious whining noise, pushing out his lower lip.

“Oh, come on--fine. I’ll take you home.” Keith shifted as he stood, jostling Lance off him once again. Those hands wrapped around his wrists again and pulled him up, but this time Keith didn’t let go. He slid an arm around Lance’s waist to hold up his weight, and the two of them wandered the house to say a round of goodbyes. Shrugging on their coats and hats (more a struggle for Lance than Keith), they braved the cold down the street lamp-lit road.

“Thanks f’r taking me,” Lance said, cheek brushing against Keith’s arm as he struggled with his balance. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith shook his head. “I didn’t realize how late it got.”

“Are we almost there yet?”

“Lance, we’re going to  _ your _ apartment. Don’t you know how far that is?” The annoyance was mild; it wasn’t the first time he’s put up with Lance’s drunk shenanigans, although it was the first time they were spending one-on-one post-drinking. Not that Lance was counting.

“Mmm. ‘S too far.”

“Too far? It’s five more blocks.”

“Noooo, too far. Your place, pleaseeee?” Lance dragged out the  _ please,  _ tilting back his head to fix Keith with his biggest puppy-dog eyes.

Another world-weary sigh. Keith was good at those. 

(He smelled really,  _ really  _ good, too.)

“... Fine, but you’re sleeping on the couch.” Lance cheered, excited to soon be out of the cold, as well as the promise of spending more time with Keith. Keith, who was chuckling softly at him again, and suddenly the cold January air couldn’t touch Lance.

Keith’s place was only one more block’s walk off Allura’s street. Lance kept himself propped up against Keith’s side as he fished the keys from his jacket pocket and brought them into the warmth of his one-bedroom apartment. Lance was already halfway through taking his shoes off as Keith turned to him again. “Make yourself at home.” Keith said it as he did that stupidly adorable half-smirk that made Lance’s heart flip-flop in his chest.

“If you say so,” he teased back, wobbling into the living room-kitchen-dining room area that comprised the majority of Keith’s apartment and flopped down across the whole span of the couch. He smirked lazily up at Keith, silently challenging him to do something about it. For the second time tonight, though, Keith didn’t take him up on his antics. 

“I’m gonna order food,” he said after checking his phone. “It’s past midnight, but we can still get McDonalds?”

“ _ Hell _ yeah, I’m starving, dude!” He tried not to read too far into the fact that Keith was more or less taking care of his drunk self at this point tonight. Despite a rocky beginning to their friendship, Keith has always been a pretty nice guy when it counted. Apparently, that extended to somehow knowing Lance’s McDonalds order, because he offered  _ and _ ordered without even asking Lance what he wanted. 

Hm.

Lance figured it best to file that away for later, for sober Lance to deal with. For now, he had food to look forward to, and an upset tummy to somehow magic away before its arrival. As if on cue, though, Keith gently shoved his legs until his bent knees left enough room to sit, and he plopped down next to Lance with two glasses.

“Wha’s in the cup?”

“Water, Lance,” Keith rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I got you some Tylenol, too.”

Lance took the glass and offered pills. He tried to down them while still lying down, and ended up dumping a good amount of the water onto his face and chest. “Aw, fuck,” he sputtered, laughing even as he snorted water up his nose. 

“Aw,  _ Lance, _ ” Keith groaned. “Really? On the couch?” Lance snickered too hard to reply, and Keith disappeared into the bedroom. He returned a minute later with a rolled up t-shirt in one hand, a towel in the other. “Sit up, jerk.” Again, there was no real bite to the words, and Lance grinned at him as he acquiesced. 

“Thanks, Keith, you didn’t hafta bring me a towel!”

“It’s not for you,” Keith deadpanned, blotting at the water soaking into the fabric of the couch. 

“Oh.”

“This is for you, though. Never said I didn’t do anything for you.” The shirt was tossed into Lance’s hands, and he changed quickly, using his own shirt as a makeshift towel and reveling in the softness of one of Keith’s favorite t-shirts as it slid over his cheeks, his chest, his shoulders. It even smelled like him, like his hair, as if everything Keith owned permanently had that clean, shower gel scent. Was that possible? Was he imagining it? He tried to take a subtle sniff of the shirt as he pulled it the rest of the way over his head, moves still bogged down even as he could feel himself sobering up with time. Oh, well. At least his head wouldn’t hurt for too much longer. 

“Thanks,” he said belatedly, but Keith didn’t seem to mind, nodding and crumpling the damp towel into a ball, tossing it back towards his open bedroom door. When Lance made himself comfortable again, he rested his head in Keith’s lap, stretching himself out across the less wet spots on the couch. “Ahhh.”

“Comfortable?” He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that smirk is on Keith’s face again. 

(Okay, so maybe he did open his eyes anyway.)

“Well, you  _ did _ say to make myself at home,” Lance grinned. “So I am.”

Lance could get used to that fondly exasperated expression, he thought to himself. And then, a moment later, he remembered that this would never be his.

* * *

 

When the clock ticked over to one in the morning, there was a chime from Keith’s phone, followed by a knock at the door. “Food’s here,” Lance said, as if it were some grand mystery.

“You think? Here, lemme up,” Keith patted Lance’s arm gently, pulling himself up and making his way to the door. Their UberEats driver smiled kindly, running through the order with Keith. She leaned in a bit too close to Keith for Lance’s liking. 

(Even though he knew he had no right to think that way.)

She was saying something to Keith, chatting in the doorway, when Lance’s patience wore out. Maybe he had a particularly short fuse today, but there was something about seeing her blatantly flirting with Keith that got on Lance’s only nerve in that moment. He stood on still-wobbly legs, doing his best to casually stroll towards the two of them. He had no good excuse for the words that followed, and he knew it. He just needed to do  _ something. _

“Keith, babe,” Lance wrapped a protective arm around his waist, reveling in the way the delivery girl’s eyes followed the motion. “Are you done here? ‘M hungry.”

“Uh. Yeah, I guess? Thanks again,” Keith handed the receipt back to the UberEats girl and raised his free hand to wave before shutting the door. As soon as it was closed, he twisted, still in Lance’s hold. “What the hell, Lance?”

“Sorry!” He threw his hands up, letting go, and taking a step back to give them some distance. Keith brushed past him on his way back to the couch, and Lance  _ really _ hated the frown on his face.

“You didn’t have to be rude to her.”

“I wasn’t being  _ rude, _ I just… she was talking to you a long time, and…” His gut twisted as he searched for reasons why he did what he did, found none good enough to say aloud. He  _ definitely _ wasn’t brave enough to tell him the actual reason.

“I mean, yeah? We were having a conversation?”

“What are you talking about, dude? She was  _ into _ you, it was obvious,” Lance certainly did  _ not _ huff.

“Well, hypothetically, if she  _ was, _ it wouldn’t have mattered, because  _ someone _ came along and ruined that.”

“I--listen, dude, I--”

“-- _ but, _ ” Keith interrupted Lance’s own interruption. “Even if you hadn’t, she wasn’t exactly... my type,” Keith shrugged, setting down brown paper bags onto the coffee table.

“What, you more into blondes? Like Hannah Montana? Maybe if she put on a wig or something--”

“ _ No, _ Lance, I mean, she wasn’t my  _ type. _ No girls are.” Lance stared back at him, wide-eyed. 

“You’re  _ gay, _ ” he said, as all the pieces clicked into place. And, oh, of course he must have known that. He knew that, didn’t he? How had he missed that? 

Keith’s expression was unreadable. “Uh. Yeah, I am. That’s cool, right? That’s not--” 

“No no no! I mean, yes--I mean, it’s good--it’s cool, man.”

“... Okay. Well, thanks for that,” Keith said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Let’s just eat and go to sleep.”

“Wait.” 

Keith paused, midway through unwrapping his burger, listening.

“I… I didn’t mean it like that. Thanks for telling me?” He shifted on the balls of his feet--this was getting dangerously close to a territory he swore he wouldn’t break into, even if he made that promise to himself when he was still under the impression that  _ he _ couldn’t be Keith’s type.

Fuck, was he Keith’s type? Could he be?

“--nce? Lance. Hey, snap out of it.” Keith’s voice pulled him back to reality, to the burger being offered to him. A peace offering in the form of a slightly squashed sesame seed bun and no onion--thanks to Keith, he presumed.

“Sorry, I just, uh. Yeah,” Lance took a beat to take a bite, because  _ damn, _ he didn’t how much he was starving until this exact moment. “I’m not gonna, like, treat you different or anything. I’m bi, I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Wait, what?”

“I know,” Keith repeated. “You told me last time we all got together at Allura’s. We were pretty wasted, and you grabbed my shoulders and told me you ‘like girls and boys.’” Keith pitched his voice up a bit to mimic Lance, and despite his mortification, it still twitched Lance’s lips in amusement. He took another bite to hide it. If Keith saw his smile at that, there would be questions, or presumptions, and he didn’t know how to handle that.

“That… does sound like me,” Lance mumbled through a mouthful.

“Well,” Keith shrugged. “I guess you weren’t joking. Guess you’re... not alone now.”

“Neither are you,” Lance pointed out. They continued eating in silence, Lance finally taking his seat again. Keith ordered  _ maybe _ too much food, but Lance grabbed one of the boxes of chicken nuggets, just to occupy his hands, and he was sort of grateful for that. In the silence, his mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. He didn’t know Keith as well as he thought, because Keith liked boys. Keith liked boys and knew that Lance liked boys. Did he have a chance? 

_ … Did _ he have a chance?

“So, uh,” Lance’s mouth said, working much faster than his brain as usual. “You… into blond guys?”

“Please, Lance, I don’t wanna talk about Hannah Montana anymore--”

“No, no, dude, I’m just wondering. Like, actually.”

“Oh,” Keith said, crumpling his burger wrapper into a compact little ball. “Well, in that case. No, not really.”

“Mm. So… redheads.”

“... Getting warmer.” Keith tossed the paper onto the coffee table and taking a long drink from his glass of water. 

“Brunettes, then.”

Keith smiled and lowered the glass, eyes flicking to meet Lance’s for a lingering moment. “Maybe.”

(Lance resisted the urge to grin back. He also resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair, the sudden need to draw attention to it.)

“Do you have a preference?” Lance almost missed it, Keith’s voice is so soft.

“For hair?”

“Yeah.”

Of course he did. Many descriptions came to his mind. Straight, choppy black hair. Bangs that perpetually needed to be brushed out of the way. Long in the back, shoulder length, but somehow probably still soft, just begging to be touched.

But, Lance didn’t say any of them. Instead, his reply was sly but genuine, and simple: “Yours.”

There was shock on Keith’s face, and for a moment, Lance felt the pang of ‘you-fucked-up,’ but then a slow grin split Keith’s features.

“... Can I change my answer?”

“Yeah,” Lance breathed, maybe too fast--partially because Keith was looking at him with  _ those _ eyes,  _ that _ soft smile, and Lance has always been pretty weak for Keith like this; partially because Keith was so close to him now, their proximity on the couch suddenly feeling incredibly minimal and yet somehow not close enough. 

Lance wanted to be closer. 

Lance moved closer.

But it was Keith who moved the rest of the way in, stopping just inches away. 

“You’re mine, too. Not--not just your hair. Just... you.”

Lance made a tiny noise in his throat, one he’d embarrassedly deny later. 

He whispered, “Tell me that again?”

“You’re my type, Lance.”

And then, Keith’s nose bumped his.

And then, Lance’s breath fluttered out across the miniscule distance between them.

And then, their lips met. And then, up was down, left was right, blue and red melded into purple, the world falling away. There was nothing but the gentle, tentative press of lips, and it would have been silent, were it not for the little whimpering sounds coming from one of them--or maybe both of them, Lance wasn’t sure. 

It could have been months, or even years, later that they pulled apart, Lance’s hands resting against Keith’s chest. Keith’s thumbs ran over Lance’s cheeks, one brushing its way over Lance’s lower lip. Reflexively, he poked his tongue out to wet his lip, grazed Keith’s thumb, and he could feel Keith’s shiver beneath his own hands.

“Keith?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

“... Do I still have to sleep on the couch?”

Keith grinned. Keith grinned, and laughed, and kissed him, again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter @shootsharpest for more klance headcanons and art. thanks for reading! <3


End file.
